


now we should kiss (that would be bliss)

by MerryHeart



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/MerryHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How would you feel,” he murmurs close to her ear as tendrils of hair begin to fall from their arrangement, “about a wedding-night-in-the-middle-of-the-day-several-weeks-after-our-wedding?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	now we should kiss (that would be bliss)

To Monty Navarro’s great credit, he remembers to swoop his bride up and carry her across the threshold when they arrive at Highhurst from the courthouse.

“I apologize most sincerely for the delay,” he tells Phoebe as he sets her down at the foot of the staircase.

“No trouble at all, darling.” They both stifle yawns.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Monty asks.

“Very little. I imagine it was the same for you?”

“Indeed.”

“I can ask the servants to bring luncheon upstairs.”

“No need. Perhaps some tea, later.”

Phoebe ducks downstairs to inform Miss Shingle that lunch will not be necessary before rejoining her husband, who offers her his arm. “Shall we retire, Countess Navarro?” he asks with playful formality.

“I believe so, Your Lordship.”

When they reach the top of the stairs, Monty stops. “I realize I don’t know the way to my own bedchamber.”

“It’s this way,” Phoebe says as she guides him down the hallway to their right. When they reach their room, she immediately draws the curtains. “There. You’d hardly know the sun was shining.”

She sits down at her vanity to remove her shoes and tries to ignore the mildly awkward silence that ensues. She doesn’t know if she and her husband will be falling into bed with exhaustion or if he has a different sort of falling-into-bed in mind.

After a few moments, Monty clears his throat. “Phoebe—”

“Yes?”

“You…you held up so gracefully while I was in prison. It means more to me than I can say. I know the shock must have been dreadful.”

“I must say that was hardly what I expected of my wedding night,” Phoebe says dryly as she removes a hatpin.

"No," Monty chuckles, removing his jacket. He catches sight of Phoebe's face in the mirror and his voice softens. "No, indeed."

She lifts the hat from her head with a sigh of relief. "I adore this hat but it is quite the load on my neck.”

Monty quietly crosses to where she’s seated and begins to rub her shoulders. Her eyes close and her mouth opens the way it always did when he kissed her hand before taking his leave. He was such a gentleman then…as he is now. She sighs as his hands climb from her shoulders to her neck, kneading out the tension. When they still, she opens her eyes and glances up to meet her husband’s reflected gaze.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“How it is only half past noon and yet it feels as though it were half past midnight.”

His fingers inch up to her hairline, searching out hairpins. “How would you feel,” he murmurs close to her ear as tendrils of hair begin to fall from their arrangement, “about a wedding-night-in-the-middle-of-the-day-several-weeks-after-our-wedding?”

“You’re not too tired?” she asks as he kneels next to her.

His “No,” is the merest breath against her neck.

She hesitates a moment before turning her head so her lips nearly brush his as she says, “Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That is Shakespeare.”

_I shouldn’t have expected less_ , he thinks as he catches her mouth with his. She threads her fingers through his hair as he extracts the last of her hairpins and her dark curls come tumbling down over both of their heads. Monty breaks the kiss with a laugh as Phoebe nervously rakes her hair out of her eyes.

“This is beautiful,” he says, twisting a lock around his finger. “Why do you always pin it up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Having it down always seemed so…sensual.” A blush that Monty finds absolutely adorable creeps across her face.

“Well,” he says, burying both hands in her hair, “I think it’s perfect.” He kisses her again as she eases apart the knot in his tie and lets it slip to the floor. His hands move to the front of her short jacket and she makes quick work of his waistcoat. She’s just about to start undoing his shirt when Monty pulls away.

“What is it?” Phoebe asks, worried she’s done something wrong.

“We never got to dance.”

“Pardon?”

“At our wedding.”

“Oh…no, we didn’t.”

“So…” he stands and pulls her to her feet. “Let’s dance now.”

“Alright…”

Her confusion is evident as he pulls her close and waltzes her slowly around the room.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he whispers in her ear. “No need to rush things, that’s all.”

He feels her relax beneath his hands, and he begins to hum a tune he’s known for as long as he can remember.

“What’s that?” Phoebe asks.

“I don’t know if it has a title,” Monty replies. “My father used to play it.” He smiles as her eyes light up. He knows how much she loves hearing about his family history. “He was quite a musician, you know. He played the piano like a madman, and guitar as well.”

“Did you ever learn?”

“He taught me the guitar when I was very small. I took the piano up shortly before he died, and continued with both for a long time afterward. That waltz was one of the first things I learned to play. Mother would hum it all the time, especially after Father died, so that neither of us would forget it.”

“How lovely,” Phoebe sighs, before realizing what she’s said. “And awful! It’s awful, of course, how you lost your father so young. And your mother—”

She’s working herself up again and Monty decides to stop that in its tracks with another kiss, this one deep and long and slow. He runs his thumb along the curve of her cheek, across her jaw, down her neck; he lets his fingers skim ever so lightly over the cleavage exposed by her neckline and decides it’s time for the dress to go.

His fingers scrabble over the long line of buttons in the back. “I will never understand how women get dressed every day,” he says in frustration.

“With help,” Phoebe replies, turning around and lifting her hair out of his way. Monty seizes the opportunity to kiss her neck, gently at first, then with a growing intensity she half-hopes will leave a mark. It’s so marvelous to be _wanted,_ she thinks as the dress slips to her feet.

She turns back to face her husband, who gives her a long look from head to toe before pulling her close.

“You know,” she says breathily as he kisses the same path from her cheek to her neck to the swelling of her breasts, “that day I burst into your parlor…I meant it, when I said I was longing to marry you. I meant this.” The small moan that escapes her lips is quieter than Monty thought was humanly possible. He raises his head and quirks an eyebrow in a manner Phoebe finds simultaneously endearing and maddening. She’s about to lean in for another kiss when he avoids her with a wicked grin, clasps her around the waist and flings them both onto the bed. She lands with a shriek and a giggle, delighted at finding herself tangled up with her husband, who peppers her face with kisses. Her laughter soon turns into gasps and she sits up suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Monty asks, sitting up with her.

“To hell with this corset! I can’t breathe worth a damn.”

He absolutely cannot help himself and collapses on the bed with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Phoebe demands.

“Phoebe…darling…” he manages between peals of laughter. “Forgive me…it’s just…I’ve never heard you swear.”

“Well…sometimes no other words are appropriate! I was always scolded for it because it’s so terribly unladylike but there are times when the English language supplies no suitable alternatives for—”

“No, dearest, it’s not that…” Monty chuckles. “Well, yes, it is, but…those words and your adorable voice…it’s just…”

“Are you going to lie there all day laughing or help your poor wife get out of this hideous contraption devised by society to make her beautiful?”

Monty sobers up quickly and deftly unlaces her corset, lifting it over her head and tossing it across the room.

“Better?” he asks.

“Infinitely.”

“And Phoebe?”

“Mmm?”

He leans in close to whisper in her ear, “You are an exquisite woman. Your kindness and understanding are unmatched by anyone I know. You are as brilliant as you are beautiful and nothing, nothing could make you more perfect than you already are, my lovely, darling, dearest wife.”

The next thing he knows he’s lying flat on his back with Phoebe on top of him.

“You know,” she says as she begins to unbutton his shirt, “I think it’s hardly fair that here I am in my shift and stockings while you’re still practically clothed.”

“Well, you appear to be making short work of that problem,” Monty replies, his voice rising an octave as Phoebe undoes the buttons of his trousers. He kicks them away and sits up so she can slide the shirt off his shoulders with a mischievous grin of her own.

“Much better,” she says as she runs her hands appreciatively over his chest.

He falls back and pulls her down with him, rolling to hover tantalizingly above her. He takes one of her hands in his own and presses a kiss to the center of her palm. “I want to kiss every inch of your body,” he murmurs.

“You’re about to get that chance,” she replies, then tries to sit up again.

“What is it?”

“Stockings,” she mutters with annoyance.

“Allow me?” She nods and he begins to inch his hand up her leg with maddening slowness. Her breath has shortened considerably by the time he unties her garter and lazily pulls away the offensive garment. When he reaches the same place on her other leg, she presses his hand with her own and removes the stocking herself.

“Keep going?” she whispers.

“With pleasure.”

 *

When the servant arrives later with tea, Phoebe answers the door, flushed and giddy, while Monty is flat on his back, completely breathless, and wondering what he's gotten himself into.


End file.
